Hark, A Watson
by Lost in Ashes
Summary: John meets stupid Watson and gay Watson. No jam was harmed in the making of this fanfic.


_Based on the following prompt: There is Watson, Stupid Watson and Gay Watson. Put them in the BBC universe. The original idea comes from the Hark A Vagrant comics by Kate Beaton._

The first John hears about it is a loud _thunk _and Sherlock appears at the top of the stairs, expression worryingly innocent.

"John. You're home early."

"Yes, the clinic had to close. Highly contagious virus…" John continues up the stairs, and Sherlock, quick as lightning, moves to block his way.

"We're out of milk." Sherlock says quickly. "Don't you think you should go and get some more?"

"I'll do it later."

"You'll be wanting tea soon." Sherlock says. "You always drink tea when you get home from work and you don't like it black…."

"Sherlock," John says through gritted teeth. "What have you done to our flat?"

"Nothing. But I really could do with some beans…."

John shoves Sherlock aside, and runs up the remaining steps to the flat.

"I really don't think you want to go in there, John." Sherlock calls after him.

John decides to ignore him. If whatever Sherlock had done to the flat were likely to do him serious injury, Sherlock would have led with that information. Probably.

At first glance the flat looks perfectly normal. At second glance there is a man sitting in his arm chair, wearing his stripey black and white jumper, and holding what looks like a pot of jam. John has a moment to feel a wave of indignation over the stolen jumper when the man looks up, and John freezes.

"Hello there." The man says cheerfully. "Do you know, I think I've discovered a clue?"

"Right. Erm," says John. "Would you excuse me a moment? SHERLOCK!"

John finds Sherlock sneaking back down the stairs, presumably hoping to make a retreat out of the back door.

"Why is there a man in there with my face?"

"Ah. I did tell you not to go up there."

"For Christ's sake, Sherlock. Why did you – how did you – he looks exactly like me, the complete spitting image. What the hell – what the _hell_?"

Sherlock shifts a little, looking uncomfortable. "Experiment?" he offers.

John looks at him incredulously. "What is it?" he asks. "A mask? A very realistic one at that, or what, face transplant? No, that wouldn't work, I still have my face."

"Excuse me," a voice says from the top of the stairs. "Isn't anyone going to take a look at this clue I just found?"

"No, John." Sherlock says through gritted teeth. "I've told you three times already. That is not a clue. We aren't even on a case at the moment!"

The man, who looks even more unnervingly like John at close range, frowns. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"He's called John too?" John rounds on Sherlock.

Sherlock bites his lip.

"If you don't explain everything quite soon." John says conversationally. "There is a very high chance of me braining you with that pot of jam."

"He's a clone," Sherlock says reluctantly. "Though not an entirely successful one." He gives the John at the top of the stairs a dirty look. The other John smiles at him widely and begins sucking on the corner of the pot of jam.

"He's a what? Is that even possible?"

"Obviously," Sherlock says.

"But – but why. Why would you do that?"

"Curiousity. Does there have to be another reason?"

"OK. OK. Let me rephrase that. Why would you clone _me_?"

"Well, there was always the chance that the experiment could go wrong. I hardly wanted to end up with a room full of Lestrades or Donovans or Andersons." Sherlock shudders elaborately at the idea. "I suppose I could have cloned Mrs Hudson but your DNA was handier."

"Let me get this straight – you stole my DNA…"

"Borrowed. You can have it back if you want. I believe it is still sitting in a jar somewhere….."

"No, I don't want it back. That isn't the point. You just – Jesus, Sherlock. You've gone too far. You really have gone too far."

"Relax." Sherlock says soothingly. "I've already phoned Mycroft. He's got a contingency plan for these sorts of situations. He'll be around in half an hour or so to get rid of them, in the mean time…."

"Them?" says John. "Sherlock… _Did you make more than one?_"

"Well…"

From behind them comes the sound of breaking glass and an outraged yell. John looks back to see the other John, faced smeared with jam, spitting out fragments of glass.

"It just exploded in my mouth!" the other John says, wide eyed. "Some kind of hidden weapon, no doubt. You don't think it could be the work of Moriarty?"

Behind him, John can hear the unmistakable sound of Sherlock banging his forehead against the wall.

"I don't think so." John says, as kindly as he can manage. "Let's get you inside and cleaned up, shall we? Sherlock." He adds with enough steel in his voice to ensure that Sherlock will follow him up.

In the kitchen John guides the other John to the sink, and gently sponges the jam from his mouth and (John feels a wistful pang) his favourite jumper. Thankfully he doesn't seem to have sustained any cuts from the broken glass.

"I must somehow have damaged the genes responsible for intellect." Sherlock says, looking at them both. "He resembles you in every way I can determine, save that."

"You created a stupid version of me." John says. "Is that why you decided to create another?"

Sherlock opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted as the door to the bathroom opens and another John Watson walks out of it. John was partially expecting it this time, so it isn't such a shock to see a man who looks exactly like him, wearing the v necked shirt Harry bought him for Christmas (he never usually wears it, it shows too much of his chest), and a pair of John's jeans. John notices bemusedly that the other John isn't wearing a belt and that his underwear is peeking out over the top of his trousers.

At the sight of Sherlock the third John smiles widely, and makes his way over.

"Thanks for letting me use your shower."

"No problem." Sherlock sounds oddly breathless, and John looks at him curiously.

"I moved the pile of mackerel livers, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Umm, these are my friends.. you've met stupid John before and this is normal John."

"Hi," The third John gives them both a warm smile and a nod. "Bit awkward, this – us all having the same face."

"Little bit." John agrees.

"Listen, um, Sherlock." The third John rubs the back of his neck, looking awkwardly down at the ground. "I wanted to ask. Do you get much free time?"

"Not an awful lot," Sherlock says, standing a bit straighter and puffing his chest out a little. "I am usually hunting down murderers or making scientific discoveries."

"Apart from the weeks between cases, which you spend lounging around the flat in your dressing gown." John points out.

Sherlock shoots him a nasty look.

"Right," The third John glances between John and Sherlock, looking non-plussed. "Well. I was just asking because, well, I wanted to know if you fancied going for a drink sometime. Or. Well, whatever it is you like to do."

"Wait." John holds up his hands. "Wait one second. Sherlock, can I have a word with you outside, please?"

Sherlock looks at him with an expression somewhat resembling a deer caught in car headlights and numbly follows John out into the hallway.

"He's asking you out." John says, as soon as he has closed the door behind them. "That other John Watson. He's actually _asking you out_."

"Yes, so I inferred." Sherlock's cheeks are stained a very subtle shade of pink, John notices.

"Right – so – you made another mistake with the DNA and all that, you made him gay."

"Yes," Sherlock's eyes dart to one side, shiftily. "A mistake."

John glares at him.

"On the plus side." Sherlock says brightly. "I seem to have irrefutably proved the existence of a gay gene. Your sister will be pleased."

"You do realise," John says through gritted teeth. "That what you have done is dangerous and unethical and _wrong_. You are _ not _going to be publishing your results in any scientific journals."

"Umm, excuse me," Gay John has just poked his head around the corner and is looking at them both expectantly. "I don't want to bother you but stupid John seems to have set fire to your tablecloth."

"Oh, for God's sake." Sherlock snaps, pushing past them both into the room. Gay John looks after him wistfully.

"He's rather amazing, isn't he?"

"Is he?" John says bitterly.

"Oh," Gay John flushes, "I'm sorry I didn't think – are you guys…?"

"No."

"I really don't want to be treading on any toes."

"You aren't. Believe me. Although, honestly, I am not sure Sherlock is the guy you want to date. He has a lot of…. issues."

"Oh, I can tell that he's a prat sometimes, but still… it might be worth it. He's pretty amazing, all those deductions, the way he cloned us out of nothing. And the way he _looks_. There really isn't anyone like him in the world, is there?"

"Probably not." John agrees grimly.

It is at this point that the doorbell rings and John notes, with relief, the outline of a man holding an umbrella silhouetted against the glass.  
John goes down to let him in.

"Ah, John." Mycroft says in tones of infinite weariness. "It is the original John I am speaking to, yes?"

John nods in affirmation.

"I understand that you have a Situation on your hands."

"If by 'Situation' you mean Sherlock has cloned me several times…."

Mycroft lets out a sigh. "Not to worry. I have an entire department devoted to dealing with the results of Sherlock's experiments, you know."

"Really?"

"Yes, you should have seen the time he tried to locate the Higgs Boson… I spent a considerable portion of the year's security budget trying to keep that under wraps. Had to invent a nuclear weapons programme to cover it."

"Wow – that's really...Ummm. What exactly are you planning to do with my clones, by the way?"

"Oh, don't worry. They won't be mistreated. We will try and relocate them somewhere where they won't be able to cause trouble. You won't see them again."

"Right. Only, Sherlock seemed to be getting rather fond of the gay one."

Mycroft makes an odd noise in the back of his throat, halfway between a growl and a cough, and pushes past John to the stairs.

Feeling oddly guilty about the idea of Mycroft rounding up his clones and shipping them off God knows where, goes out to get a drink in the pub. When he returns to the flat both the clones are gone and Sherlock is standing by the window, looking tense.

"John," he says, as John enters and (fumbling only slightly) hangs up his coat.

"That was a weird evening." John comments.

"I may have overstepped the bounds of acceptable scientific endeavour." Sherlock says.

John raises his eyebrows. "Just a bit. You insane git."

The tension in Sherlock's shoulders increases ever so slightly, and John can't help smiling at him.

"It's all right. We'll have a proper discussion about scientific ethics tomorrow. I'm far too drunk right now."

Sherlock brightens at this. "All right. And then maybe we can have a go at testing a hypothesis I have regarding the reanimation of matter. I bought home a selection of corpses…"

Christ, no. John holds up his hands. "Tomorrow, Sherlock. Now, I need to go bed, and I think you should too."

"All right then." Sherlock jumps to his feet.

"You know," Sherlock pauses at his door. "Even though you are not my own creation – you really are my favourite John Watson."

"Sleep." John reminds him. But he can't help smiling to himself as he climbs up stairs to bed.


End file.
